


Thor: The Brown World (Thor/Loki, NC-17)

by buttsnax



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gjetost, M/M, Slash, Swiss, Thorki - Freeform, brown world, graphic depictions of mustard, have the sandwich I incest, honeyed ham, m/m - Freeform, pickled herring, roast beef, rye, sourdough, toothpicks, tuna salad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttsnax/pseuds/buttsnax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imprisoned by his own family, Loki comforts himself with the tender fantasies of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_sandwiches">his brother's touch</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thor: The Brown World (Thor/Loki, NC-17)

“Unhand me, brother,” grunted Thor, pushing away Loki’s hand from the shaft of his hammer. “Only the worthy may wield it.” Mjolnir was nowhere to be seen.

Loki was huddled at Thor’s feet, hands outstretched upward along his elder brother’s leg. There was a carnal desperation in his eyes, and a lack of pants on Thor’s part.

“I am worthy, brother,” panted Loki. “Let me prove my worth to you.” 

Thor’s steely gaze make Loki shrink back, but his eyes never lost sight of their turgid prize. Thor uncrossed his arms, and put them at his waist, jutting forth his hips in the process.

Loki licked his lips and leaned in.

The door opened.

A regal woman swooped into the room, ferrying a silver tray brimming with sandwiches. An enticing aroma filled the chamber; Loki’s keen Asgardian senses picked out tuna salad, roast beef, and pickled herring. No two sandwiches were the same, and their breads ranged from a homey coarse brown wheat to a crumbly honeyed oat loaf that was Loki’s favorite. He needn’t have lifted the top slice to know that each sandwich would have just the right amount of spicy brown mustard and the tiniest dab of mayo. A bright splash of green and red showcased the fresh lettuce and tomatoes peeking out from under the delicately folded sliced meats. Tomatoes were out of season in Asgard—she must have ordered them from Alfheim just for him.

There was a toothpick in every sandwich, each topped with a crumple of colored cellophane. To the side of the sandwiches were several quartered dill pickles, arranged in a smiling face. 

“Hi honey, I thought you might be hun—oh. Oh my.” 

“Mom!” yelled Loki, as Thor disappeared in a flash of magic. He covered his lower half with a pillow. “I told you to knock.”

The room faded, Loki’s childhood bedroom giving way to the elegant but harsh lines of of the prison cell he was confined to. This also made the pillow disappear, but it returned with a small amount of concentration. Couldn’t let his mother see _that._

Freyja froze, still gripping the tray of sandwiches (including at least one panini grilled on the back of a captured fire demon from Muspelheim), her face etched with lines of confusion tinged with disapproval. 

“Was that your . . . brother?” Her voice broke only slightly.

“Ew, no, jeez,” Loki snapped, his eyes bulging with indignant rage. “I can’t believe you would come in here without asking. Can I get some privacy? Please?”

Freyja drew herself up straight and sucked in her breath. Without another word, she turned back to the door from whence she had come. 

“Um, Mom? Can you, um, leave the sandwiches? Thanks.”  
  
Freyja set the tray down on the lone table in Loki’s cell and slammed the door on her way out. The scent of the thick layer of Gjetost cheese was intoxicating.

Loki sighed, and finally let his illusory pillow drop.

He thought about reaching for one of the sandwiches—a thick sliced beef on marbled rye with swiss cheese and aioli—but stopped himself when the wardrobe door opened.

He smiled as his brother unfurled himself from the armoire-cramped interior.

“Quick thinking on that illusion, brother,” said Thor, this time with genuine respect in his voice. 

Loki blushed. “Thanks.”

Thor was by his side now, and Loki felt a stirring in his loins once again.

“Would you care for a sandwich, brother?” he asked. Thor nodded, and reached out his hand—not for the sandwich, but to lay it gently on Loki’s bare hip. He leaned over, and Loki picked up a half-sandwich—honeyed ham, with mustard and avocado and sprouts (Thor didn’t care for tomatoes). All sliced into a perfect triangle. 

He held it up to Thor’s mouth. Thor spread his lips to take the first bite and—

\--

“That’s enough,” said Thor.

Heimdall, the watcher who saw all—and consequently was spared none—sighed in relief. 

Thor’s face was like a mask, but a fragmented one, like three-day-old bread that could no longer withstand the rigors of a quadruple-decker sandwich and cracked, revealing the contents beneath. Except in this case the contents were not several slices of bacon and perhaps some pepperoncinis, but instead disgust and contempt, with a healthy slathering of low-fat self-embarrassment.

“He just does this all day?” Thor asked after a long, uncomfortable silence. 

Heimdall nodded.

“Every day?” 

Heimdall nodded again, then finally spoke. “The sandwiches change, but the players do not.”

Thor stopped to think for a moment.

“I don’t even like ham,” he said.


End file.
